The King's Highway (Days of Dread Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

“My goodness, what is it, dog?”

He let her arm go, ran a few steps, then turned and let out a low rumble non-bark. Then he came over to her again and gently took her wrist in his mouth.

“You want me to go with you. Fine.” She marked her place in the book with a finger and stood. “Where do you want me to go? I’m with you as long as it doesn’t include eating that rabbit.”

He ran out into the open area to the big tower and stood on his hind feet against one of the corner legs. He barked once as she neared.

“What is it, boy?”

When she reached him, he nosed the little metal sign attached to the tower.

She patted his head and examined the little plate. “You are such a crazy dog. What in the world is it?” It mostly had strange sequences of numbers with a few letters thrown in. Spitting on her finger, she rubbed over it, wiping away some of the dirt to get a better look. It had three rows of numbers and letters that somehow seemed familiar, but that was weird.

Why would they? Somewhere…. Had she seen those exact same sequences before? But when? Or how? She recruited a large leaf and stuck it in her book to mark her place, thinking about it, trying to figure it out. She patted the dog’s head, and suddenly, it hit her!

“Come on, boy!”

She hurried back to the camp. With each step, the roasted meat aroma strengthened. Her mouth watered, and her stomach rolled. But she never ever would ask them for any. She knew better than to eat a dumb dead rabbit the dog carried in, no matter how wonderful an animal he was.

What if it had just died from some horrible disease?

They didn’t know for sure the dog didn’t just happen to find it. They’d all be sorry when they got sick. And she wasn’t. She marched into their little camp. Facing each other, all of them sat Indian style gnawing on bones. In the center of their circle, the fire still burned, which added a nice warmth to the chilly afternoon.

Ignoring them, she walked straight to her backpack.

Right where she put it, she found the note. She read it once then twice, but couldn’t believe her eyes. She held the piece of paper toward Jackson. “You read this before, didn’t you?”

He tore himself away from his rabbit feast and stared at her, holding out his hand. “What is it?”

“The dead guy’s note. You read it before, didn’t you?” She stepped closer, but yanked the note back. “Don’t get your greasy fingers on it. So did you read it?”

“Yeah.” He wiped his hand on his jeans. “Well, I looked at it. But there wasn’t anything to read. So what?” She handed it to him. He took it and studied it for a moment. “Why’d you write on it?”

“Jackson, I didn’t.”

He looked at her like she was lying. “Come on, McKenzie. It didn’t say anything about following the King’s Highway before.”

“I know! And what about those first numbers?”

“Hey, Sis, chill. What about them?”

She turned around and pointed toward the high-line tower. “I think they changed, Bro. The numbers have changed from what they were. And. Now they are the exact same numbers as the ones on that pole. It has a little metal plate attached to it with those on it in order!” She pointed to the paper in his hand.

“You’ve got a loose screw, Sis.”

“I promise. Those are the exact same numbers. Go see for yourself. It’s a miracle, Jackson! God’s telling us which way to go, to follow the King’s Highway, wherever that is.”

“Why is it that everything is always about God with you? And
what were you doing out in the open anyway?” Jackson looked from the paper to his sister then back to the note.

The new words didn’t look like McKenzie’s writing, but the neat block letters wouldn’t necessarily be hard for her. And she wasn’t above some elaborate practical joke. She’d been gone plenty long enough to pull it off with the ruse of reading her book. Probably all about them cooking the rabbit.

He extended the cracker sandwich he’d made from her cut of the meat. “Here, hold this.” He stood. “Come show me what you’re talking about.”

She took it then fell in behind him, marching out toward the giant power tower.

Al hurried past her and walked beside Jackson. “Most likely, she’s referring to the pylon’s ID numbers.”

Jackson glanced at him. “What’s a pylon?”

“The high-line carrier; those giants are called pylons.”

Stopping at the clearing’s edge, he held his hand up. “You guys wait here.” He looked both ways.

The mowed area bent up ahead, so he could only see the top of the next one. That also meant no one around the corner could see him. He jogged to the pole and quickly located the metal plate McKenzie told him about. He held the note next to it, then compared the numerals. The numbers and sequences were the exact same alright, but it sure didn’t make sense.

He rejoined the others.

“Well?” McKenzie walked backwards in front of him.

He didn’t respond for pondering the oddity, then at the campfire, let out a loud sigh. “It’s like you said. So what’s the deal? Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Making all this up? Where’s the real piece of paper that the old man was holding onto?”

She stopped in her tracks, looked insulted, and put her hand on her hip. “Duh, you’re holding it, genius.”

He studied her, but didn’t detect the mirth he suspected to find lurking in her blue eyes. “Okay, then. So let’s say that before, the first time we saw the note, we both missed the big block letters at the top.”

“May I see the missive?” Al extended his hand, and Jackson passed it to him. At a glance, the boy shook his head. “That scenario is highly improbable.”

“I agree, but let’s just say.” He glared at his sister. “How do you intend to explain that this pole’s –” He glanced at Al. “Excuse me, pylon’s—numbers match the first series on the old man’s note?”

“Hey, maybe Boggs did it.”

Jackson looked to his little brother who studied the tag on the dog’s collar. “Who’s Boggs?”

Cooper smiled. “Him.” He held the dog’s collar. Says right here, his name is Boggs.”

“Get real, Bro. A dog couldn’t write a note.”

“If he was really an alien, maybe a shape shifter, he could have done it. Maybe he could just think the letters and numbers and they appeared.”

McKenzie made a face. “Boggs? That’s certainly a bizarre name for a dog. But maybe one of Coop’s aliens did do it.” She giggled. “I swear on the Bible, Brother. I did not!”

Jackson loved his kid brother something fierce, but the little booger could come up with some of the most off the wall ideas he’d ever heard. The boy definitely watched too much TV, but that wouldn’t be a problem from now on. And McKenzie, though a prankster, was not a liar—something about Jesus being Truth and the devil being the father of lies.

He looked to the new kid. “What do you think, Al?”

“The canine’s previous owner was a baseball fan.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Wade Boggs, of course. That would be my supposition as to how the animal acquired such an atypical moniker.”

“Forget that. What about the note?”

“Well, I didn’t see it before, so I can’t comment on the alleged mysterious appearance of the words or any changing of the number sequences, but I would ascertain only one reasonable explanation exists.”

Jackson waited, but Al didn’t elaborate. He hated guys who did that. Made him want to slap some sense into him, but instead gave in. “Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?”

“Divine intervention. If you’re foolish enough to believe in such things.”

Jackson really wanted to slap the wise apple, but he had more self control than that. At least the brain obviously was on the same page concerning religion. And wanting to do a thing and actually doing it distinguished men from animals, leastwise that’s what his father had claimed.

Now, McKenzie? She looked ready to climb up on her soapbox over Al’s sacrilege.

Man, if only his dad could be making all the hard decisions.

‘Follow the King’s Highway’ the note said. What could that mean? The wide stretch of mowed green grass that the pylons dotted as far as he could see both out in front and behind him did resemble a highway…of sorts. Could that be it?

And she said the dog practically dragged her out to it. What was it with that dog? Boggs. He shook his head. Well, it sure seemed like it could be what the strange note meant with those numbers matching and everything, but it sure was weird. He thought more about the proposed path to take and shrugged to himself.

Maybe not such a bad idea.

He would be able to see exactly where he was going, steer clear of the highly populated areas, and have easy travel with plenty of cover on the edges of the mowed area when he deemed it necessary. Seemed the power company had spent a lot of money keeping it mowed beneath the huge metal carriers.

Divine intervention? Right. He looked at the new kid. “No one likes a know-it-all.”

“Yes, sir. Actually, for some time, I’ve been indubitably aware of that verity.”

Jackson let it go. He kind of liked being called a sir. “Let’s get it together, people. We’ve got plenty of day left and miles to go before we sleep.”

McKenzie gave him a stop-being-king look, but didn’t say anything. She went to gathering her pack. It pleased him that she ate her rabbit sandwich just like he figured. Her stomach overrode her misguided sense of revolting and acceptable. He’d never eaten rabbit before himself, but it tasted pretty good. Next time though, he’d cook it a little longer.

He stomped the last of the fire dead then took a path along the edge of the mowed lane parallel to the high-lines. As long as they were going in the direction he traveled, he’d use the green corridor and be happy for it. But he refused to believe for a minute it was all God’s plan. Like a supreme being cared.

After the bend, for a couple of miles, the pylons stayed pretty straight, but the river bent more south. Without debate or the other’s input, he decided to stay with the pylons. Definitely made for much easier traveling than the woods and all its thorny Texas ivy.

He didn’t want to stop right then and consult the map, and neither did he intend on admitting that he granted any credence to the note being from God, but it did probably make sense to at least check things out. If memory served him, the river bent and turned a lot through there, snaking its way to the south side of downtown Dallas.

He pulled the old man’s compass from his pocket and confirmed his direction. With it, he should be able to find the Trinity again if he needed to, without any problem. He slowed until Al walked beside him. “So who’s this Wade Boggs guy that you think the Pyrenees was named after?”

Al smiled. “Twelve time all-star third baseman for the Boston Red Sox with a lifetime batting average of three twenty-eight. The sports writers voted him into the Hall of Fame back in 2005. A quite excellent participant in America’s favorite pastime.”

The guy rattled off several more statistics before Jackson could stop him. “How’d you know all that? Are you some kind of
Money Ball
freak?”

The kid grinned. “A movie aficionado, huh? But actually, that’s affirmative. You might say that. Sabermetrics is a hobby of mine.”

Jackson shook his head, but in for a penny in for a pound. That’s what his favorite granddad always said. “Saber what?”

“The application of mathematics to statistical reasoning in baseball problems.”

“So you’re like the nerd guy in the movie?”

“Exactly.”

“Ever play the game?”

“One year of tee ball the year I started school.” He shrugged. “Never exhibited much promise, I’m afraid—much to my father’s chagrin.”

Ah, the type that loved the game but couldn’t play a lick. He loved baseball, too, but who knew if he would ever set foot on another diamond? Could things ever be anywhere near the old normal again?

The scattered trees and undergrowth he’d been taking for granted suddenly changed. Instead, row after row of giant trees grew in neat rows in both directions. He could still see the tower tops through the branches though, so he continued.

“Hey, King.”

“What, Queenie?” He glanced back without stopping.

“You can just quit calling me that. If you are King, I am definitely not the queen!” His sister grinned. “Anyway, shouldn’t we gather some of these pecans?”

“Pecans?” Jackson looked underfoot. The sweet nuts covered the ground. “Sure, maybe you can make us a pie.”

“Other sons and daughters of a monarch are usually called prince or princess.” Al stooped over to the ground, picking up something. “Unless the king gives them a title such as duchess or countess, then they are called by that.”

“Brainiac, I’m not his daughter either.”

“Oh, right.” The nerd’s face reddened and he didn’t say more, just started gathering nuts.

Jackson got busy with the other three and stuffed at least a couple of pounds in his pack. What a great find to fill all the little empty spaces in there. He then put it back on, surprised that he could feel the extra weight. But it wasn’t too bad.

With his jacket and pants pockets bulging, Al looked up. “You know we can live on pecans if we have to.”

“Yeah? Well, I hear roasted know-it-all is good with a nice Chianti.”

The boy grinned. “
Silence of the Lambs
. You indeed are a fun film buff. ”

Jackson had to smile at the kid, but his smart-aleckness certainly wore on him. “Maybe. I wouldn’t push it.”

“Yes, sir.”

There he went again, but truth be known, it sounded better every time the kid said it. “Okay, people. Let’s wrap it up.”

McKenzie shook her head and kept on filling her pack. “Stuff it, Brother, and I am not your people. We need to get as many of these little jewels as we can carry. The Lord has provided, and I for one, am going to gather as many as possible.”

He ignored her and headed out. So sure that what? A hundred years ago? The Lord planted pecan trees in these straight lines so that he and the others would have nuts. After twenty or so steps, a gunshot echoed through the grove.

He froze then dropped to one knee and motioned to the rest to get down. With his hand cupped behind his right ear, he plugged his left then turned slowly from side to side, his eyes closed. A second shot rang out, followed several shouts. That definitely sounded too near for comfort, and seemed to be coming from directly in front of him.

He looked around. The others huddled together a few yards directly behind him. Hardly able to believe his bullheaded sister still picked up pecans around where she knelt, he touched his extended finger to his lips then pointed toward the north. All three nodded. Heading out, he stayed low and tried to walk as softly as the crunchy pecan hulls allowed. He reached the edge of the King’s Highway and waited for the others.

McKenzie put her mouth to his ear. “Why’d you come here?”

He hated explaining himself. His dad told him strong men never did, but perhaps he should make an exception, as his sister was liable to make a fuss even with some gun-happy idiot on the loose. He put his mouth to her ear. “The river’s south. I didn’t want to get trapped.”

“Okay. So now what?”

A third shot reverberated in the trees, this one still closer. From out of nowhere, Boggs bolted past him, racing with long strides, barking the deepest, meanest bark Jackson had ever heard coming out of a dog. A guy hurried toward Jackson’s position, passing the dog and holding his bloody side. Jackson stuck his head out from the cover to see what was going on.

Boggs continued his charge.

Another shot rang out. The grass behind the dog flew up.

The bleeding man—obviously running for his life—flew past as though unaware of Jackson’s presence. After the guy passed, Jackson leaned out a little farther. Another man, maybe fifty yards up, held out a pistol taking dead aim at the Pyr. Boggs bounded straight at him. 

Without hesitation, Jackson jumped out into the clear. “Hey! Over here!”

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” McKenzie grabbed at him.

The guy swung his gun toward Jackson.

He glanced toward the kids. “Stay put.” 

The man fired. The grass fifteen yards ahead and to his left jumped up just as Boggs leapt onto the shooter. He fell backwards squealing like that pot-belly piglet his sister talked Dad into at a petting zoo. Vicious growls and fight sounds filled the afternoon. The dog seemed to ravage the man.

Jackson stepped back into cover. “Boggs got him.”

Cooper ran to him and hugged his waist. “I thought you got shot!”

“I’m okay, Bubba.”

“Thank God! Thank God!
You scared me half to death!” McKenzie grabbed his arm. “What in the world were you thinking?”

“I didn’t want Boggs to get shot. Now you guys wait here.”

Both her hands shook wildly like she couldn’t stop frantically waving them. “But, but what about the shooting? And screaming? And that man who ran by holding his side? Was that blood?” Her eyes opened so wide, he could see the whites all the way around. He’d never seen anyone open their eyes like that before.

“Yeah, it was blood alright.”

“Did the shooter fire at you?”

“Yeah, but I knew he’d miss. Too far. He wouldn’t have missed Boggs though, and he was about to plug him if I hadn’t distracted him. Just wait here. I need to check on things.”

She grabbed his arm and glared. “You can’t do that! You can’t take chances like that! What if that guy had shot you?”

He pried her hand off his arm. “We can talk about it later. I want to see about Boggs now. Okay?”

Cooper took his hand. “I’m coming with you.”

Jackson smiled at his brother and kneeled in front of him. “I want you to stay with McKenzie. She needs you more right now. I’ll be back real quick.”

The little guy looked scared but let go of Jackson and took his sister’s hand.

Jackson looked at Al. “Stay.”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaned out into the open and looked both ways. Nothing. No dog. No dead guy. Nothing but the wide green highway looking perfectly peaceful. Keeping just inside the wood’s cover, he made his way toward where Boggs had attacked the man. He found the spot and picked up the man’s revolver. A blood trail led to the other side of the King’s Highway.

Jackson checked the pistol. Only one bullet remained in the cylinder. He stuffed it into his backpack then whistled softly and waited. He checked both ways then put two fingers to his mouth and blew one short loud blast. On the far side, the weeds and tall grasses bent. Boggs burst through and ran straight to him. He sat on his haunches, his muzzle stained with blood.

“You okay, boy?” He knelt and checked him out, loving on him in the process.

The dog gave him that smug, self-satisfied look.

It tickled Jackson, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He wrapped his arms around the big lug’s neck. “Maybe you are an alien after all. Whoever you are, whatever, I’m sure glad you decided to come with us.”

Jackson gathered the others and stayed just off the highway’s edge. Two hundred yards or so east, in amongst the ancient pecan grove that the pylons cut through, green, seven-leaf, head-high plants grew thick, and heavy with pods. Nestled in the trees, the stalks appeared entirely unnatural in the setting, out of place.

The earth at the base of each plant had been cleared and filled with pecan hulls with a small dike pulled up all the way around the hulls. Several plastic buckets stood at the ready next to a stack of shovels that leaned against a tree. One pail was filled with lots of smaller hand tools.

Al stepped next to him. “My, my, appears we have stumbled onto a Cannabis Indica operation.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Perhaps the rationale for the gunfight. From the magnitude of this, I must ascertain more individuals are involved than just our shooter and his victim.”

Jackson glanced over. Why couldn’t he just say pot or weed—even marijuana—like a normal kid? “Yeah, I agree. Best we move on fast before any other partners show.”

McKenzie grabbed his arm. “No, we need to burn every one of them first!”

Jackson looked at his goody-two-shoes sister. Would he ever understand how the girl’s mind worked?

“Absolutely not, Sis. We need to get as far away as fast as we can before anyone else shows. We do not need to advertise that we’re here.”